


Tame as the Wild Ones

by Matryyoshka



Series: Wolf Like Me [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gay People Exist at Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/F, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Starks as Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-02-27 02:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18730213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matryyoshka/pseuds/Matryyoshka
Summary: Margaery wants Sansa but doesn't know if she feels the same. Sansa wants Margaery but feels like being a skinchanger might be a dealbreaker. Arya and Loras just want them to go on a godsdamned date already.Meanwhile, something bloodthirsty lurks in the Forbidden Forest...





	1. Don't Forget to Breathe

 

The trees whip past Sansa as she races through the underbrush, Jon hot on her heels. She knows she won’t be able to outrun him for long, but she’s pressing her head start as long as she can. Arya comes up beside her, the feathers of some bird sticking to her muzzle. She’s as messy a wolf as she is a human.

 

Summer lopes alongside her, and she knows that right now Bran is sharing his mind. Her little brother doesn't change form the way the rest of them do, but enters the mind of other animals at will. The Stark magic is the strongest in him, her father says. He can see the past, present, and future, and can hunt with wolves and fly with crows. Right now, though, he's trying to beat his big sister in a foot race.

 

Sansa smells what might be a lynx a ways away and off to her right. Jon and Bran lose interest in the race immediately, spoiling for a fight. Sansa and Arya keep going, running as fast as their legs can take them through the forest. In human form, it would seem dark and shadowy. In wolf form, it’s alive with smells and sounds and Sansa can feel her connection with it thrumming through her. It’s not quite as good as being in the North - there’s no weirwood here, and the creatures and the plants aren’t hers - but it’s still wild and freeing. 

 

She and Arya both skid to a halt when they hear a low howl to the west of them. _Robb's found something._ They move through the woods swiftly and silently and catch the same scent Robb must have. Something strange. Something large.

 

Judging by the overwhelming odor of blood, something dangerous. 

 

Sansa crouches low as she moves through the underbrush. Arya moves further to her left, and Sansa knows that the rest of the pack is likewise spreading out to encircle whatever this is. She can still smell the damp earth, the freshness of fallen leaves, the intersecting trails of the creatures that had crossed the forest hours before... but all of it is insignificant next to the stench of strangeness mixed with so much blood.

 

He chest low to the ground, Sansa peers through the foliage into a clearing. 

 

And sees it.

 

She notices the tail first. The spiked dragon's tail swishes lazily as the beast devours a stag with apparent relish. The scales give way to short, coarse fur, and then to a magnificent brown mane. The creature momentarily looks up from its meal, and the moon illuminates the face of a lion, covered in blood and gore. 

 

_Fuck._

 

Sansa backs away from the chimaera slowly, knowing that her siblings are doing the same. Once she's sure she's far enough not to be heard, she turns and bolts.

 

The rest of the Starks reach the garden beside Tormund's hut at about the same time she does. They change back to human form, politely averting their eyes from one another as they conjure clothes. 

 

Sansa stretches her arms back, shoulders popping as her limbs finish elongating. Her eyesight sharpens and her sense of smell, although always better than a human's, diminishes. By the time Robb clears his throat, she's gotten used to seeing with her eyes again.

 

"So. A fucking chimaera."

 

"That would have been fucking awesome if it hadn't been so terrifying," Arya says.

 

"Why not both?" Bran says as he joins their circle, coming from the direction of the castle. He and Arya high five, and the older siblings roll their eyes. 

 

"This is serious," Robb says grimly. "A chimaera doesn't just hunt for sustenance. It kills for the sake of killing. For the thrill of the hunt. The Forest is new territory for it, so learning the behaviours of the creatures in it will keep it occupied for a while. But once that's not stimulating enough, it'll look for more challenging prey." He looks meaningfully towards the Hogwarts grounds. 

 

"What in the seven hells is a chimaera doing in the Forbidden Forest, anyway?" Jon wonders aloud. "We're a long way from Dorne."

 

"I'll give you one guess," Sansa says wryly. "It starts with T and rhymes with 'Ormund.'"

 

As if on cue, a lamp is ignited in Tormund's hut, and a huge, bearded head peeks out the window. 

 

Robb gives the already sheepish looking Tormund a level look. 

 

" _Explain_."

 

* * *

 

 

Margaery yawns dramatically as she throws open the door of a broom cupboard to reveal two fourth year Ravenclaws in the middle of playing tonsil Quidditch. “For godssakes, find a better spot. Everyone knows that Slynt loves to bust people along this hallway. He’ll hang you by your thumbs if you’re not careful.” She lets them scramble off without punishment. _Although I probably should have taken points off for sheer stupidity._

 

She’s strolling along, trying to amuse herself by chatting with portraits and suits of armour, and definitely trying to distract herself from her painfully desperate hopefulness that tonight will be one of the nights that Sansa joins her. Ever since that first night Sansa had found her on her rounds, the other girl had been joining her late at night with some regularity. 

 

Margaery had genuinely thought that being friends with Sansa would be easier than admiring her from afar. But since they’ve gotten closer, she's become more desperate than ever for the other girl’s affections. Now she has her own whole store of reasons to find Sansa attractive, instead of second-hand ones from Arya. Her unexpectedly dry and mordant sense of humour. Her incredible intellect. How she focuses so completely when in conversation. The way she runs her hands through her hair. _Gods. What I would do to be the one running my hands through that hair._

 

_Speak of the Stranger._ Margaery sees Sansa cautiously poke her head around the corner ahead of her and smile when she sees that it’s just Margaery. As always on these nights, Margaery’s mouth gets dry at the sight of her. Sansa’s normally straight hair is wild and unruly, her cheeks flushed, her clothes rumpled. She is always wearing muggle clothes when Margaery sees her at night, and tonight she is wearing ripped jeans and a white t-shirt stuck to her body a little with sweat. She is relaxed and content, part of the reason Margaery so looks forward to seeing her when she does her rounds. She’s so different from the serious and anxious Sansa of the daytime.

 

_Gods gods gods she is hot. Ugh. I want to make her look like that sometime, all flushed and glowing._

 

Then Margaery has a horrible thought.

 

_What if someone is making her look like that? Someone else. Someone who is not me._

 

* * *

 

 

"Uhmmm Marge? Are you alright?” Sansa slows up a bit, because Margaery has stopped dead in her tracks. Sansa takes a look over her shoulder to double check that the chimaera hasn't followed her, because the other girl looks like she’s seen a ghost. Like a scary one. She also does a quick check down her body to make sure there isn’t any blood or debris stuck to her clothes. Nothing she can see justifies the sick look that Margaery is giving her.

 

If anything, it's Sansa who should be feeling sick. She has confidence that she and the other Starks can deal with this, though. It's not the first time Tormund has brought a new friend onto Hogwarts grounds and lost control of it. Honestly, she feels proud that she and her family work so well as a team. Her biggest worry was honestly that she wouldn't get back to the castle quick enough to catch Margaery... a Margaery who, presently, looks like she might faint.

 

Sansa approaches her cautiously, laying a hand on her forehead like her mother used to do for her when she was feverish. “Hey. Are you feeling okay?”

 

Margaery snaps out of it then, and something resembling her usual smile is on her face in an instant. “Yeah, sorry, just remembered that I forgot to finish up an essay for tomorrow. No worries, I’ll just do it in the morning. How was your super secret stuff tonight?”

_Tomorrow is a Saturday. Extra credit?_ Sansa raises a dubious eyebrow but lets it slide.“Great. Just amazing. Like it always is.” She smiles, remembering the way she and her siblings had stealthily surrounded the chimaera and gotten away with the creature none the wiser.

 

Margaery makes a weird strangled sound and Sansa looks at her strangely. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

“Perfect,” she chokes out.

 

“Um. Okay. Well anyway. I did something I’ve never done before tonight and it was awesome,” Sansa says excitedly. It’s hard not to share just a little bit with Margaery, even though she feels bad for being vague. Margaery is just so cool, and accomplished, and attractive, that Sansa wants her to be impressed with her. She tamps down the desire fluttering in her belly. 

 

_I want Margaery, my_ friend, _to think I'm cool. That's it._

Having been the wolf so recently makes it harder for her to mask her attraction, even to herself. She wants Margaery to like her. She wants Margaery, with her sly smile and her self-assurance and her kindness and her fathomless dark eyes to feel that Sansa is on her level. She _wants_ Margaery, full stop. 

 

_But that's not possible._

 

There's a sudden bang from down the hall and they hear the telltale cackle of Dontos, the poltergeist. Sansa's not in the mood to deal with him, and one look at Margaery tells her that the other girl isn't either. Sansa wrenches open the door of the broom closet that Margaery just kicked the Ravenclaws out of and drags the Prefect inside with her. 

 

_Oh no. This was... a huge mistake._

The closet is tiny. Margaery and Sansa have to stand flush against one another to fit. Sansa's arms are still around Margaery's waist from when she pulled her in, and there really isn't anywhere else to put them now. She can hear the other girl breathing, and feel her soft hair against her cheek. 

 

_Fuck._

Sansa tips her head back to curse whichever god put her in this position, which is another mistake, because as soon as she does she can feel Margaery's warm breath on her neck. Her heart pounds against the other girl's ribs, and a shaky sigh escapes her.

 

Margaery's hands slide up her arms, coming to rest underneath the sleeves of her t-shirt. Her thumbs stroke the soft skin there. Sansa shivers and Margaery sighs. 

 

It doesn't feel fair to look down - she can see in the darkness, but Margaery can't. But when Margaery moves one hand up and into her hair with a whispered "Sansa..." her resolve breaks. She looks at Margaery for the first time since entering the closet. She's biting her lip, eyes closed, head tilted upwards. They share a breath, and it's all Sansa can take. She pulls Margaery closer, relishing the other girl's small gasp - 

 

Bright light assaults her eyes as the door to the closet is flung open. 

 

"For godssakes, find a better - _oh._ Well, _hello."_ Loras Tyrell looks equal parts surprised and ecstatic. Sansa blushes crimson and Margaery glares at her brother murderously.

 

"Sorry for the interruption. I'll just leave you to it," Loras says, smirking lasciviously. Sansa stops the door with her foot before it can close and quickly puts some space between her and Margaery, who is still trying to look intimidating while blinking owlishly at the light. 

 

_Gods, she's cute._

Sansa gives herself a mental shake. "I should... um... get going. I'll see you on the weekend, yeah? Study date?" _Not a date, don't use the word date, there can never be a date._

"Sansa, wait a second!" 

 

But Sansa is already speeding down the hall, trying to put as much distance between her and temptation as possible.

 

* * *

 

 

"Make sure to be careful weighing out that aconite," Willas says as he reties his dragonhide apron after his break. "It's for that creep Qyburn and he always complains if it's even a milligram off."

 

"Sure thing, Willas," says Margaery absently. In truth, she could use the reminder. Her mind has been drifting to the previous night all morning, and she can't quite bring herself to focus on the present when last night she was in a _broom cupboard_  with _Sansa Stark_. 

 

_Better cherish that memory. Given how fast she ran away, it's probably the last time I'll ever be in a broom cupboard with her._

Margaery doesn't understand, though. Sansa had been the one who had pulled her close, who had been, Margaery thought, about a second away from kissing her. And she can't forget the look on Sansa's face, illuminated for the briefest of moments by the door opening, before it had been replaced by surprise. Sansa had looked...

 

_Hungry._

Margaery shivers. Seeing that expression on the normally shy, demure Sansa Stark's face had just about undone her. If it hadn't been for her godsdamned brother...

 

She glares across the room at Loras, who is humming to himself as he trims shrivelfigs at the prep table. He's been completely insufferable all day. _Not one word of apology._ He catches her eye and makes kissy faces at her. She's about to give him a piece of her mind when the chimes on the door jingle.

 

"Grandmother!" Margaery isn't totally thrilled at the prospect of matching wits with her grandmother on a day when her head is in the clouds, but her mere presence will stress Loras out, so it's definitely worth it. She's wearing impeccable dress robes in Tyrell colours and a hat so tall it brushes the doorframe as she enters. Margaery hopes that when she's old she can pull off headwear that intimidating. 

 

Olenna graces Margaery with a smile. "How are they doing, Willas? Being adequately useful?"

 

"They are, as it turns out. They've been putting together some of the bigger orders, which has given me the chance to work in the greenhouse. I think I just about have that wiggentree hybrid figured out. We should be able to get something usable out of the next cohort."

 

"Good, good," says Olenna, running a critical eye over the rest of the shop. "And how is school going? Are you prepared for your exams, Loras, or have you just been spending your time in broom cupboards with the Baratheon boy?"

 

Loras's eyes gleam at the opportunity to have something over Margaery for once. "Actually, it's _Margaery_  who's been spending time in broom cupboards, Grandmother. With one _Sansa Stark._ " He grins triumphantly and Margaery glares at him, seething.

  
"It's not like that -"

 

"Sansa Stark?" Olenna arches an eyebrow. "That would be a catch indeed. No Southron family has ever managed to cement a marriage with the Starks. The closest was Joffrey Baratheon, and, well, we saw how that turned out."

 

"We're not - even if we were - I'm not thinking about _marriage -_ "

 

"- not that I would let that stop me. I had even though of steering Loras towards the Stark girl - "

 

"- we're just _friends -_ " 

 

"- of course, Loras showed his colours quite early, so that was out. I must admit that despite your inclinations it had never occured to me that we could do that same with _you_ and Ms. Stark..."

 

"Wait a minute," Loras finally succeeds in interrupting their grandmother. "First of all, I'm going to pretend that you weren't planning on selling me off for an alliance as though it's a hundred years ago - "

 

"Must you be so _dramatic_ , Loras, really?"

 

" - and _secondly_ , aren't you always going on to Margaery that she needs to find someone who can keep up with her and to never settle, even if it means she doesn't marry some rich Pureblood?"

 

Olenna shakes her head at Loras. _You understand nothing,_  her expression seems to say. 

 

"Of course. But Sansa Stark is far from mediocre. In fact, I'd say she could give our Margaery a run for her money. That's a girl who knows how to handle her affairs."

 

Margaery's jaw drops. Loras looks almost affronted. To hear their grandmother compliment _anyone_  is a rarity. To hear her compliment someone their age is... well... unheard of. 

 

"Oh, get yourselves together. I've dealt with Sansa Stark a number of times this past year. You know that we import a number of specimens from the North. Who do you think I've been negotiating with since her parents have been indisposed? I've just come from meeting with her, actually. They have a surplus of mandrakes - Willas, I'll need to speak with you about that. She's a shrewd but fair negotiator, whip smart for her age." 

 

"And she obviously cares deeply about doing right by all the people who rely on her," Willas adds. 

 

"She's a woman who commands respect," Olenna says. "If any of the children at that school of yours are a match for you, it's her."

 

Margaery is too gobsmacked to reply for a moment. _Gods. Even_ Grandmother _thinks_ _Sansa is perfect._

"Grandmother, listen... I'm glad you have such a high opinion of Sansa. She's honestly the most incredible person I know. But... we're just friends."

 

"Just friends who get hot and heavy in broom cupboards," Loras interjects.

 

" _Just. Friends."_ Margaery grinds out. "I think... I don't know. I think she might be seeing someone else. I think that's why she was so eager to get away last night, even though we had a... moment." She studies her gloves closely, humiliated at having this conversation even in the _vicinity_  of her grandmother.

 

Olenna snorts. "You _think_? And since when do you let a thing like that stop you? I snatched your grandfather right out from under Minisa Whent's nose. Since when do you have the spine of a flobberworm, Margaery?"

 

_Gods. She's right. Am I Margaery Tyrell or not?_

Olenna sees her change in expression and nods. "There's my girl. Now go get us that Northern alliance. And -" she winks "- follow your heart, I suppose."

 

* * *

 

 

_I am Margaery Tyrell. I am confident. I am the mistress of my domain._ It was simple. All she had to do was... ask. That was the thing to do. Just ask Sansa if she was seeing anyone. 

 

_And prepare to sink into the abyss of rejection._

 

But who could Sansa possibly be seeing? Her best friend, Jeyne Poole, is very possibly the straightest girl Margaery has ever met, and she prides herself on her gaydar. Mya Stone is going with Asha Greyjoy. Myranda Royce? Hmm. Possibly. But Margaery feels like Myranda wouldn't be able to keep her mouth shut if she and Sansa were dating. As far as boys go, Harry Hardying is the only one other than her brothers that Margaery has seen interacting with Sansa lately, and it seems pretty clear that she doesn't care to give him the time of day. _He's sort of a low-rent Joffrey. Or maybe Joffrey is a low-rent Harry? Hard to say._

 

When Margaery walks into the upper courtyard where she and Sansa meet to study, the other girl is already there, scowling at her potions textbook. It reminds Margaery of her non-Sansa related problem: her upcoming Transfiguration final. She sighs deeply and sits across from Sansa, pulling her wand out and setting in on the table between them. Initially, she'd asked for Sansa's help as an excuse to spend more time with her. It quickly became apparent, though, that despite being a year below her, Sansa's skill far outstrips her own in the subject. 

 

Sansa shuts her book and grins at Margaery. Despite her current frustration, Margaery can't help but smile back at how unreserved Sansa has become in her presence. It's a far cry from how she was when Margaery first sat beside her in Runes some months ago. And the other girl seems to have brushed off Friday's broom cupboard incident - Margaery isn't sure how she feels about that.

 

"So what's this emergency?" Sansa asks.

 

Margaery groans in response. "My transfiguration exam is on Friday and I still can't get the hang of partial human transfiguration. I'm supposed to be able to affect the length and appearance of my fingernails, but nothing I do works." Margaery is unused to being so bad at anything, and it's galling. 

 

Sansa's brow furrows. "That's not in the regular curriculum is it?"

 

"It's for extra marks. I need to do it just in case I mess up anywhere else - then I'll still have a good chance of getting an O." Margaery is admittedly a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to grades. She's as ambitious as her House suggests. She might be the worst prefect ever, but she still wants to be Head Girl. And once she graduates, she wants to climb the ladder to be the first woman Minister for Magic.

 

But before she can do any of that, she has to be able to grow her godsdamned fingernails. Margaery stares at her own hand in frustration.

 

Sansa hums in response, and closes her hand into a fist. When she opens it again, her nails are an inch longer and bright red with tiny Gryffindor lions dancing on them. Margaery sticks her tongue out, despite being extremely impressed. 

 

"I don't get it. My wand motions are perfect. My pronunciation is perfect. Why can't I do it?"

 

Sansa tilts her head, considering. "I feel like you're very... externally focused. It's not a bad thing! But you're not trying to transfigure an object, or even another living being here. You're changing something about yourself. You can't go about that the same way that you would cast a spell on something disconnected from you."

 

"That's... never occured to me before," Margaery says slowly. "But how do I do it differently?"

 

"First you have to be aware of yourself before the change. Think about your body, and really feel the part you're trying to change. Here," Sansa reaches behind herself and picks an apricot off an overhanging branch. "Take this. Hold it and feel the distinction between it and your hand. Feel the apricot against your skin - and now feel your skin against the apricot." Margaery does it, focusing intently on the fuzzy skin of the apricot, the otherness between it and her hand. She feels more aware of her hand than she ever has. 

 

"Now put the apricot down and stay focused on your hand. One thing that helps me is to follow my pulse. If you put your thumb and forefinger together, you can feel a pulse point there." With every thrum of the blood in her hand, Margaery feels more and more focused. "Great. Now cast the spell, but don't think about the spell - think more about your own fingertips. Focus your power there." 

 

Margaery's fingernails begin to grow out before her delighted eyes. She takes a deep breath and twists her wand, saying the words that turn her nails green. Focusing on the wand work and her hand is a bit like trying to pat her head and rub her stomach at the same time. 

 

"Yes! That was so fast. I can't believe you think you're bad at this this," Sansa says, grinning. 

 

"It's a completely different way of thinking about spellwork, honestly," admits Margaery. "It feels so powerful. Does everyone in the North learn magic this way?"

 

"It's definitely more of a Northern approach," Sansa muses. "I feel like we're a bit more in tune with things there. And of course, it's a family talent." She smirks with false modesty and takes a bite out of the apricot. Margaery tries not to stare at her mouth as she licks her lips.

 

_Deep breath. You can do this._

 

"Sansa, listen, I - " 

 

"SANS! Gods, there you are. I've been looking everywhere for you. Did you forget about the family meeting?" Arya leans against the stone archway of the courtyard, somehow managing to look wild even in her school uniform. 

 

Sansa curses. "I completely lost track of time. I'm sorry Margaery - I'll see you tomorrow?" She gives Margaery's hand a quick squeeze in apology before following her sister out the door. It's the first time she's they've touched since the broom closet and Margaery's eyes widen before she can school her expression. Arya rolls her eyes and gives her a knowing look over her shoulder.

 

It isn't until she's back in the Slytherin common room that she realizes that Sansa didn't use her wand to transfigure her nails. 

 

* * *

 

 

"So. You and Margaery Tyrell, huh?" 

 

Sansa stumbles on the moving staircase and stares at her sister open-mouthed. "Me and Margaery Tyrell _what_?" 

 

Arya rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on. You're obviously both super into each other." 

 

Sansa's heart thuds in her chest. _Margaery Tyrell is into me._ "No we're - I mean, she's not. We're just friends. She doesn't feel that way about me." _Then what was that in the broom cupboard, Sansa?_

 

"Really? Because I don't think I've ever seen anyone be jealous of an apricot before, but I'm pretty sure that's what I just witnessed."

 

Sansa blushes. Could Margaery feel that way about her? She still has her doubts, even after the other night. Margaery is... well, Margaery. She could have anyone she wants. She can't deny that Margaery seems to spend more time with her than anyone else, except maybe Loras. And that sometimes she catches the other girl looking at her in a way that might not be described as just friendly. But - even if Margaery does have feelings for her, it doesn't matter. It couldn't possibly work between them. Not now.

 

Arya senses her change in mood. "What are you afraid of?"

 

"I'm not afraid of anything," Sansa says crossly as she jumps a trick step. How can Arya not understand? "I'm - I'm too _fucked up_  for anything. How could I date someone? How could anyone want to be in a relationship with me? I lay awake most nights staring at the ceiling and wondering if Dad's going to get his soul sucked out of him. Half the time I'm too sad to function. I dial in most of my interactions with other people. The only way I'm even sort of alright is when I blow off steam by turning into a giant fucking wolf!"

 

Arya stops and stares. Sansa realizes that this is probably the most she's talked about how she feels since her father went to Azkaban. Then to her surprise, her sister steps in and hugs her tightly. 

 

"I'm sorry. I didn't know - I mean I knew, obviously. But. Yeah." Arya says into her shoulder. 

 

Sansa allows herself to relax into the embrace. She's felt like she has to be so strong for everyone. They stand that way for a long time. 

 

Arya finally pulls back and looks at her intently. "Listen. I know you feel fucked up. And if you don't think you're ready to date right now, that's cool. But I feel like Margaery has sort of already dealt with the things you're talking about. She hangs out with you all the time. She's seen you when you're sad. And I feel like, more than anyone, you don't dial it in with her. When I walked in on the two of you there, you looked more alive than you've looked in months." She and Sansa arrive at the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy. "I don't think she's walking into this with her eyes closed. And she makes you happy. You deserve to be happy."

 

Sansa shakes her head. "Even if all those things are true, she still doesn't know that I'm a skinchanger and spend my nights literally hunting stuff in a pack with my siblings. That's bound to change the way she feels. And it's not fair to pursue anything without her knowing that. It's better to stay friends. At least then I can still spend time with her."

 

They stand in silence for a long time. 

 

"I think you're underestimating Margaery," Arya finally says. 

 

Sansa shrugs and looks at the floor. Arya sighs and climbs into the Room of Requirement. Sansa stares after her.

 

_Happy. Could I be happy?_


	2. I Stand Corrected

Sansa can't help but smile as she ducks into the Room of Requirement after Arya. As usual, Robb has made the room look like the hall of Winterfell. The Starks have kept the hall the same as it has been for hundreds of years. Long wooden tables, torches in wall sconces, tapestries hanging on every wall. Sansa pauses to watch little embroidered versions of the First Men arrive in the North before making her way to the head table where her siblings are already sitting. 

"Alright," Robb says as she takes a seat and pours herself a mug of butterbeer. "So. Here's where things stand. There's a chimaera in the forest. A creature that no wizard or witch has gone head to head with and bested since the time of myth."

"Yeah, but has a pack of mages slash SKINCHANGERS ever tried? I like our chances," says Arya, cracking her knuckes. She holds her hand out for a high five from Bran, but he shakes his head.

"I don't know, Arya. I tried to get into its head. Usually there's at least something to latch onto so I can make a connection. But this thing is all death and chaos and terrifying intelligence. It's not like anything we've ever encountered."

"Even if we could take it on as a pack, chimaeras are endangered," Jon says. "Better not to kill it if we can."

"If we can't get it under control, I think Hogwarts students are about to be endangered," Theon counters wryly.

Jon glares at him and the two of them simmer at each other until Robb pounds his goblet on the table. 

"Gods, you two. Do you have to have a stand-off every time we try to solve a problem? Do you fucking keep score?"

"I don't know if they do, but we do," Bran says, pulling a notebook out of the bag hanging on the back of his wheelchair. "What do you think, Ar?"

"Jon broke eye contact first."

Sansa hides her grin in her butterbeer. _Do they have a betting pool? I should get in on it._

"Please, Sans. Can you be the one person in this room who isn't utterly useless?" Robb looks at her imploringly.

"As it happens, I can," Sansa says triumphantly. "We don't need to kill it. Just incapacitate it for long enough to Portkey it to Dorne. The Sand Snakes will deal with it on their end. They've had some luck relocating chimaeras, so they can take it from there."

"Nice that you have exes in high places," Arya smirks.

Sansa punches her in the arm without much rancor. Elia had been a fun summer romance for her - just like Obella had been for Arya. The two sisters share a smirk.

" _Staying on topic_ , were they also able to give you advice on how to deal with it?" Robb asks hopefully.

"Unfortunately not. They've been using manticores to corral them. Obviously bringing manticores into the Forbidden Forest isn't something we can do on the down low."

Jon lets his head fall onto the table. "And if this gets out, Tormund will get fired at best, sent to Azkaban at worst."

_Like Dad._

There's a grim moment when they're all thinking about the fate of Ned Stark. Suddenly being at Winterfell feels all wrong, and their father's seat at the head of the table seems emptier than ever. Sansa breaks the silence.

"We can't bring manticores in, but I have a few ideas. I'll need Theon's help to gather the stuff I need, though."

"Alright," Robb says. "Jon and I are away for the next few days - the Wizengamot is meeting to discuss some addendums to the treaty with the goblins. You work on the strategy, and we'll deal with the chimaera as soon as we get back. It'll be a full moon that night, so it'll be a good time for us to take it on."

Jon is doubtful. "Are you sure, Robb? Maybe we can come up with something while we're in King's Landing. That's a lot to put on Sansa."

Sansa bristles. _It's like he hasn't even been paying attention to everything I've been doing for the past year._

"Sansa is the smartest person I know."

Surprised, Sansa turns to look at Arya, who is glaring at Jon. He has the good grace to look embarassed. 

"I just meant -"

"We're going to be fine, Snow," Theon drawls. "Sansa and I make a good team. I may not be able to turn into a drooling, fuzzy beast, but I do have _some_ skills."

"Okay," Robb raises his voice over Jon and Theon. "It's settled, then. Sansa, keep us posted. When we're not in session, you'll be able to Floo us."

They sit around for a bit longer, just relaxing in the one place they're free from the scrutiny of all their peers. Arya and Bran are playing a game of Exploding Snap at their end of the table. Robb and Theon are talking about who has the best chance at the World Cup this year, but both are clearly more interested in making eyes at each other than in winning the argument. Jon slides over to Sansa.

"I'm sorry, Sans," he says, dark eyes genuine. "I didn't mean anything by it."

Sansa looks at him, considering. "I believe you. But here's the thing, Jon. You've left me with a lot of responsibility, while you and Robb go do your thing. And that's alright. I'm handling it. I'm _crushing_  it, actually. But you can't have it both ways. You can't leave me with half the weight of the world on my shoulders, and then come back and treat me like a little girl instead of an equal. Just because I fight my battles differently than you and Robb do doesn't mean I'm not damn good at it."

"You're right. I've been trying to be protective... but really what I've been doing is not giving you the respect you deserve." Jon grins, impressed. "Where did this new confidence come from?"

"From literally dealing with everything I've had to deal with for the past year, and somehow doing a good job at it," Sansa says wryly. _And from Margaery,_  she realizes. _From Margaery teaching me to value the things I do._

Her heart feels full and achey in a way that's different than just the swell of attraction.

_Fuck._

* * *

Margaery is walking out of her Transfiguration exam with Loras, feeling awfully pleased with herself. Even the examiner hadn't been able to hide her admiration when Margaery had transfigured her nails three inches long with the Slytherin banner emblazoned on them. "I crushed that exam," she tells Loras triumphantly. Loras rolls his eyes.

"Save some of Grandmother's approval for the rest of us mortals, okay? I'll be lucky if I get grades good enough that I'm spared another 'why are you wasting your potential on a silly broomstick game' lecture."

"Hmm. Probably not possible."

"Why doesn't she ever give you flack about playing? Oh, right - because you're her favourite."

"Because I don't want to play professionally, idiot." 

"Right, right - you'll be too busy ruling the Wizarding World and having Sansa Stark's babies."

"Shut. Up."

"You're right, she'd probably be the one carrying the kids - she seems like the type."

Margaery whirls around on Loras, stopping him in his tracks outside the owlery. "I don't even know if she has feelings for me Loras. So I would appreciate if you didn't rub it in." 

Loras scoffs. "She's obviously into you, Marge. Why else would look at you like she wants to eat you alive while in a broom closet that _she_ pulled _you_ into?"

Margaery avoids his gaze as she brushes past him and scans the room for Thorn, their owl. "I told you, Loras. I think - I think maybe she's seeing someone else."

"Why? Who could she possibly be seeing when she spends all her time with you?"

"I don't know. When she sees me on my rounds late at night she's all - all flushed and happy and - ugh. I don't know." Even saying it out loud is humiliating.

Loras shrugs. "Doesn't sound any different than the rest of the Starks. It's obvious they all get up to _something_ late at night."

Margaery looks up at him sharply. "What? How is it obvious?"

"I've been sharing a dormitory with Robb and Jon for six years. You think I don't know their late night habits? Once or twice a week like clockwork, those two idiots sneak out thinking they're being subtle. Sometimes I come back on nights when I've been patrolling and they're not even back in bed yet. And if I do catch them sneaking back in, they look like they've both run 10 miles in the mud."

Margaery's mind whirls. "Were they out on... Friday last week?"

Loras considers as he ties his own letter to their family on Thorn's leg. "Friday... yeah. I remember because I had been up late studying and was pissed. And Robb had this long gash on his arm that Jon had to episky."

Margaery wonders how much it says about how deep she is with Sansa Stark that despite overwhelming proof that Sansa is into something extremely strange, her first and strongest reaction to this news is relief that Sansa isn't meeting someone for late night trysts. But then what's Sansa's secret? And why wouldn't she trust Margaery with it?

What had she said that first night?

_Sometime, I might even tell you._

* * *

"So what's bothering you?" Theon asks as they walk down to the lake. It's a scorching hot day already, and they've had to get up before breakfast to make it to the waterfront without running into any other students.

"What do you mean? The chimaera? I'm not scared of it - I mean, any more than it's reasonable to be scared of a monstrous killing machine."

Theon looks at her sideways. "Come on, Stark. You know I could do this errand myself. Not that I'm not happy for your company, but I have a feeling you have something you want to talk about."

Sansa sighs as they reach the water and cast their bubble-head charms. The water is cool and clear as she and Theon wade in.

Theon doesn't press, which Sansa has always appreciated about him. They dive below the surface. By the time they're ten feet deep, there are colourful fish darting around them, and the cool water on her skin is calming her. She smiles. It had been Theon who had taught her how to swim, in the icy rivers of the North.

"I'm having some trouble. Girl trouble," Sansa starts. "I just - how do you balance wanting to be with someone with... the very real possibility of all your baggage being too much for them?"

Theon hums thoughtfully. "This is about Margaery Tyrell."

"Yes," Sansa says softly. Finally acknowledging it out loud makes her feel heavier and lighter at the same time.

"And what kind of baggage are we talking about? The wolf thing? As I remember, you didn't even tell He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named about that. Not that I'm questioning that decision. Good call, honestly."

_Good call, indeed. Joffrey knowing I'm a skinchanger. I can't even imagine._

Sansa recalls with satisfaction the image of Joffrey being flattened on the Quidditch pitch and lives in that happy world for a bit before responding. 

"Yeah. It just feels different with Margaery, though. I feel like... trust is important. I respect her too much to string her along while keeping such a huge secret from her."

"Not to mention that Tyrell would probably suspect something, if she doesn't already. She's several orders of magnitude smarter than Joff."

"Exactly. The last thing I need is for that to put a strain on our relationship. It would feel like setting us up for failure from the very start."

The light is thinner down here, and the aquatic creatures increasingly strange. They pass shrakes and small kelpies, and detour to stay out of the way of a logalub. 

"Not to mention... I mean, everything that's happening. Do I have time for a... for a girlfriend with Winterfell and with Dad and everything? And wouldn't she rather be with someone who isn't dealing with all that? Someone who deals with normal teenager stuff?"

Theon shrugs. Underwater, it's a weird movement. "You can't really decide that for someone. It's up to them. Judging by how much time Margaery spends with you, and how supportive she's been already, I think the answer to that question at least is right in front of you."

_Hmph. So Arya might actually be right._

The world around them brightens again, this time from below. The village of the merpeople takes shape before their eyes. Sansa has only seen it once before. The colourful paintings of merpeople and various creatures on the rock boundary come into view first. There are several merpeople standing (swimming?) guard as they approach. Their hostile looks soften a bit when they recognize Theon. He speaks to them in rapid-fire Mermish for a few minutes before giving Sansa a thumbs up. Sansa gives the guards a polite smile as she and Theon swim off. 

"They said we can harvest what we need," says Theon as he leads the way past stone houses and through a square with a magnificent statue of a Mermish chief. "But to be careful. The plants we're looking for are in the deepest part of the lake - right where the Giant Squid likes to hang out. One of them saw it further out to the west only about half an hour ago though, so we should be good for a bit." 

Sansa waits until they are out of the settlement before speaking.

"Maybe I just shouldn't even be thinking about this right now. It's not like I don't have enough on my plate." 

"Here's the thing, Sans. Nothing is ever going to get better."

"Oh, wow, Theon. _So_ not the advice I was looking for."

"I mean, let's be real - my positivity isn't why you keep me around. What I mean is that there's always going to be _something_. We have lives where we're always stuck smack dab in the middle of politics, or family obligations, or, you know, the strategic relocation of a horrifyingly dangerous beast. Our lives will never be so calm that the only thing you need to worry about is remembering your significant other's birthday and studying for your Charms exam. So if Margaery is important to you, it's not a matter of waiting for a better time. It's a matter of prioritizing her."

Sansa ponders Theon's words as she dives down and down and down. _Theon's right. My life will only ever be a train wreck. If Margaery wants on board, can I really stop her?_

 _Do I_ want _to stop her?_

"When did you get so wise?"

"Somewhere between dumping Ramsay Bolton and dating your brother," Theon replies, leveling out as they finally reach the bottom. "Thanks again, by the way."

Sansa smiles. It had been her who had supported Theon in ending his toxic relationship with Ramsay.

And her who had put the fear of all the gods into the rat bastard by appearing over him in his bed in direwolf form.

They swim along the bottom of the lake in companionable silence, harvesting the plants they need from the loose sand. By the time they've judged they have enough, Sansa is actually feeling positive about her situation for once. _I can trust Margaery. I can tell her the truth about me. I can lay my crazy life in front of her and ask if she wants to be part of it._

Sansa meets Theon's eyes through the cloud of silt they've dug up and smiles.

And then screams as tentacles shoot out from the murk behind him.

* * *

Arya and Bran Stark are sitting by the lake when Margaery and Loras arrive, brooms slung over their shoulders. Loras has mandated fun, citing an overload of exams and Stark conspiracy theories. Flying over the water sounds like just what Margaery needs right now. 

 

"Hey Starks. What's up?"

 

Arya whirls around, a flash of panic on her face before she schools her expression. "Just hanging out. Thought we'd get some sunshine before breakfast ends and the grounds are mobbed."

 

"That was our thought as well," Loras says, oblivious to Arya's discomfort. "Thought we might go for a fly over the lake. Margaery says your sister does from time to time."

 

Margaery peers around Arya to Bran, who still hasn't turned fully to face them. "Bran? Are you alright?"

 

"He's fine!" Arya says hurriedly, blocking Bran with her body. "He's just taking a nap. Exams, you know. Hasn't been getting much rest. Ravenclaws, studying, you know..."

 

"Have you seen Sansa around? She wasn't at breakfast." Margaery is far beyond pretending to Arya that she isn't painfully attracted to her sister. 

"She's, um, she's just doing some stuff. Normal stuff. For Winterfell, you know. Going over some... inventory..."

 

Margaery opens her mouth to call Arya on her shit, but then everything starts happening at once. Bran jolts upright in his chair and spins to look at Arya with a look of absolute panic. There's a roar from the middle of the lake as water shoots up in a vertical column twenty feet high.

 

And, as Margaery watches, mouth agape, Sansa Stark emerges from the geyser astride a huge equine kelpie, a giant tentacle grasping at her heels, only to disappear just as quickly beneath the surface.

 

Loras's broom drops from his unresponsive fingers. "What the actual _fuck?_ "

 

" _Fuck,"_ Arya spits. "What's happening down there, Bran?"

 

"The squid has Theon. Sansa is trying to get him free by flanking it with the kelpie but there are too many tentacles to contend with. I'm going back in." Margaery watches in stunned silence as Bran's eyes roll into the back of his head.

 

Arya curses again. Margaery struggles to make sense of what's happening, to make her usually clever brain be of use. When it comes to analyzing people's motivations, delving into the theoretical elements of spellwork, even strategizing within a Quidditch match, she's used to being the smartest person in the room. But now things are happening so fast and nothing about the situation is operating in a way she knows how to deal with. 

 

_Sansa is in danger. Get your feet moving._ Do _something!_

Bran reemerges from... wherever he was. "The merpeople have arrived. They're helping to distract the squid's other limbs. Sansa has Theon out, but they're both losing focus on their bubble head charms. The currents the squid is making are impossible to swim through. The only way they can go is up, and they're all the way out there." 

 

The surface of the lake is churning now. Huge, choppy waves buffet the shore, and they have to back up to avoid being soaked. Arya is gazing out at the water with wild eyes. Margaery can see her make a decision.

 

"Watch him!" She shouts to the Tyrells, grabbing Loras's broom and taking off onto the water. Margaery finally snaps out of her frozen state.

 

"Watch him!" Margaery shouts at Loras, pushing the unconscious Bran towards her brother. She mounts her own broom and takes off after Arya.

 

The waves are high and terrifying, and as Margaery and Arya cut through them to the centre of the lake it feels more like flying over an ocean. Margaery struggles to keep a grip on her broom and Arya in her sights. The closer they get to the middle of the lake, the closer they have to fly to the water, keeping an eye out for Sansa and Theon.

 

Abruptly, the waves die down around them, and Margaery allows herself to hope that the squid has been subdued. But then they begin to churn in the same direction, with even more ferocity than before. 

 

_A whirlpool. The Squid is creating a whirlpool._

Margaery can see Arya's horror as she realizes the same thing. The two girls fly as close as they can get to the eye of it, looking desperately for their friends. 

 

"There!" Margaery shouts. Sansa and Theon are relatively close to one another, being tossed around in the vortex. Margaery mutters a spell to conjure a rope and Arya, catching on, quickly does the same. Margaery gets as close as she dares to where Sansa is struggling to keep her head above the water. 

 

"Sansa!" The other girl flails a hand, trying to catch the rope. Margaery is abruptly and ludicrously reminded of Sansa reaching out for the Snitch, the moment when Margaery knew she had to have her.

 

She feels tension on the rope. Sansa manages to get a grip with one hand and then the other, and Margaery begins to pull her to calmer water as the other girl wraps the rope around her arm. Looking behind her, she sees that Theon is likewise being pulled by Arya. 

 

As soon as they're out of immediate danger, Margaery helps Sansa climb up onto her broom behind her. She feels Sansa's arms wrap around her, can feel her whole body shivering against her. Under other circumstances, Margaery would be elated at Sansa being pressed against her. Right now, though, all she can feel is her heart pounding in her chest at how close she'd been to losing her.

 

"Why are you here?" Sansa's head is on her shoulder, her dazed voice in her ear. "Nevermind. I'm glad you're here."

 

They reach the shore. Loras is pale with fear and anger. 

 

"What in the Seven Hells were you thinking? You could have _died_ , Margaery!"

 

Margaery slides off her broom and helps Sansa off, supporting the other girl's weight. 

 

"And what was I supposed to do? Let Sansa die? And Theon?"

 

Theon interrupts. "Bran, how are the merpeople holding up?"

 

"They're alright. They've managed to drive it off for the time being. No casualties, although a number of them are injured."

 

"And what the _fuck_  is that all about, Bran?"

 

"Loras." Margaery silences her brother with a glare, indicating the obviously exhausted Starks. "Now is not the time, alright? Right now we need to get them to the castle and warm. And I'm guessing without anyone seeing, right?" Arya nods. "Alright. There'll be time for questions once they're feeling up to it."

 

_And I have a_ lot  _of questions._

* * *

 

Sansa doesn't know how Margaery gets her up to the castle and into the Prefects' bathroom. She's sore from head to toe and feels like she's swallowed her weight in water. She dimly registers Margaery turning on taps.

 

"Take your clothes off," the other girl orders, motioning to the bath. Sansa, so tired and so used to stripping in preparation for transforming, almost Vanishes them without thinking. She remembers Margaery's presence just in time and begins to take them off the normal way. She registers Margaery staring for a moment before she blushes and turns around, giving Sansa privacy. 

 

Sansa slips into the tub, concealing her body beneath the bubbles. She sighs and leans back.

 

When she opens her eyes some time later, Margaery is sitting on the edge of the bath across from her in her skirt and school shirt, dangling her legs in the water. Her hair is wild from their flight from danger and the humidity of the bathroom. Sansa allows the familiar warmth of attraction pool in her stomach before she meets Margaery's eyes. Her expression is unreadable.

 

"You scared the living daylights out of me, you know," she says, voice shaking. Sansa realizes that she's scared. She's never seen Margaery scared.

 

"I'm sorry," Sansa says softly. "You saved my life. I don't know how I can ever repay you."

 

Margaery shakes her head, agitated. "You're my... you're important to me Sansa. You don't have to _repay_  me. But... I would appreciate some answers. Why were you there? You almost died!"

 

"And you almost died saving me," Sansa says, cold dread seeping into her stomach. _Fuck._

"And what for? Theon had a huge sack of _Gillyweed_  for godssakes." Margaery's voice is pleading and Sansa doesn't know how to answer, can't think past her horror at the danger Margaery had been in, at the weight of the other girl's desperate confusion. _How could she ever want to be part of my life?_

"I... yes. We needed Gillyweed. A lot of it," Sansa says weakly, head spinning.

 

"Why didn't you literally just ask me? My family _owns an apothecary,_ Sansa."

 

"It needed to be a secret," Sansa says, begging Margaery to understand. "We're helping out a friend. He could be in massive trouble, life ending trouble, if what he's done gets out. There couldn't be any kind of paper trail."

 

Margaery raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "You think my family's never done an under the table transaction before? Especially for a friend? Hells, Sansa, I would have just _given_ it to you if you told me you needed it."

 

Sansa is silent. She _had_ thought of asking Margaery - hells, her tutoring sessions with Margaery were why she had thought of using Gillyweed in the first place. But she had dismissed it quickly. That just isn't how they do things. They keep things in the family, they lean on each other but no one else. Trusting the wrong people is why her father is in prison. And it isn't that she doesn't trust Margaery...

 

"You don't trust me," Margaery says flatly. She's angry, but more than anything she is sadder than Sansa has ever seen her, and Sansa's heart is aching in her throat. 

 

"Margaery, _please -"_

"Sansa just - stop, alright? Please." The resignation in her tone is tearing Sansa apart. Margaery lifts her feet out of the water and collects her clothes. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before meeting Sansa's gaze. "You almost _died_  out there today. I can't imagine how asking me for help would be so undesirable that you would resort to something so dangerous instead. I don't know how else I can show you that I would be _in this_ with you, if you wanted me to be. But... message received, I guess."

 

Sansa opens her mouth to respond, to tell Margaery that she doesn't know how Margaery got things so wrong. _But she's not wrong, is she? I've been keeping her at arm's length even when she gives me every reason not to. She's more than justified in her anger._

"Margaery..." Sansa whispers, willing the other girl to... _to what? Read my mind? Understand all the things I haven't been saying? Understand that I was ready to tell her everything?_

_I'll tell her now. Everything. I have to._

"Margaery -"

"I need a bit of time, alright, Sansa? I'll see you next week."

 

She's gone before Sansa can respond, and Sansa wishes fervently that she were back in the lake dealing with the squid, instead of in the bath dealing with the guilt and the dread in her stomach.

 

* * *

 

Margaery wrestles the huge tome down from the shelf and drops it with a _thud_ on the table. She's in the very back corner of the library, the part where all the little-used references and codexes live. It's so dim she has to start a bluebell flame in a jar for extra light to read by. She opens the book to the first page.

 

_The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, with Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children._

She flips to House Stark, Loras's voice echoing in her head. _It's obvious they all get up to_ something _late at night._

Her heart still hurts from her conversation with Sansa. Before, the other girl's secrets felt like a shroud that Margaery could slowly push through. After seeing the lengths that Sansa will go to in order to avoid confiding in her, they seem like a wall.

 

_But maybe it's not just her secret to tell,_  Margaery thinks determinedly, flipping through House Stark's tree. _Maybe it's bigger than her. But if I happen to figure it out... well, no one could blame her for it. And then there won't be anything standing between us._

There are a higher than average number of seers in the Stark family, Margaery learns, which could account for Bran. She's never heard of a seer that could see the present moment elsewhere at will, though. A higher number of animagi as well, although that could just be because of family tradition. A number of werewolves, but nothing alarming. 

 

Frustrated, Margaery flips back further and further, until historical record starts to blend with myth. And there it is, all the way back in the entry for Brandon "Ice Eyes" Stark. 

 

_Myth has it that Brandon was a skinchanger, and that the ability to transform into a wolf runs in the blood of his descendants._

Skinchangers aren't supposed to be real, Margaery knows. They were a myth that surrounded the very real phenomenon of animagi in ancient times.

 

_Animagi_.

 

Margaery turns the pages of the tome so fast she kicks up dust. Rickard Stark. _Wolf._ Theon Stark. _Wolf_. Lyanna Stark. _Wolf._ And on and on.

 

Every single Stark, dating back to the beginning of the animagi registry, was registered as a wolf. 

 

_Were they really animagi? Or were they skinchangers that got caught, and registered to protect their secret? The Ministry isn't exactly... open minded when it comes to magical creatures._

"Gods, Margaery, there you are!"

 

Margaery slams the book closed, her heart pounding. "Loras! You scared me."

 

Loras looks at her strangely. "A bit of light reading material? Come on. We've got detention."

 

Margaery groans. All she wants to do in this moment is run to Sansa and tell her that she understands, that it's okay, that she doesn't care, that she'll keep her secret. But she and Loras are still paying the price for their contraband racket, in the fine Hogwarts tradition of dangerous and drawn out punishments.

 

_I'll find her as soon as I'm done. I'll sneak into her dorm if I have to._  Margaery re-shelves the book, taking care to blow some dust on it so that it looks undisturbed and uninteresting.

 

_Your secret's safe with me._

* * *

 

Sansa is laying on her bed in her dorm, trying to focus on the novel she's reading. Usually muggle literature can sweep her away, but she can't keep her mind off of Margaery.

 

_He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking._

Sansa snaps the book shut and rolls over, hiding her head in her crimson pillow. She's alone in the dorm. Jeyne has long since gotten sick of her wallowing, and Mya has one more exam.

 

She's contemplating going for a fly when her door bursts open. It's Arya, hair wild, tie askew. The utter terror on her face makes Sansa sit up straight.

 

"It's Loras and Margaery. They've been given detention in the Forbidden Forest."

 

Sansa's blood runs cold.


	3. In the Woods Somewhere

"Tormund let me know as soon as Professor Dondarrion was out of sight, but they'll still be pretty deep by the time we get there. They have Summer, at least, so Bran's warged into him and is trying to lead them away from the chimaera."

Arya has to jog to keep up with Sansa and Theon's long strides as they head to the secret passage behind the Special Services to the School plaque. 

They crawl one at a time through a low tunnel and emerge outside the castle near the greenhouses. Sansa pulls out her wand to Vanish her clothes but Arya lays a hand on her arm.

"Sans. I know you're worried about Margaery - and Loras. But you _have_ to stick to the plan. It's the only way we stand a chance in hell, especially without Robb and Jon."

Sansa nods, jaw tight.

"No. Heroics." Arya holds her gaze until she seems satisfied.

They start running, transforming as they do. Sansa's conscious human mind is chanting _Margaery, Margaery, Margaery_. As she becomes the wolf, her heart pounds against her ribs in a steady rhythm as she runs towards the forest.

With any luck, Bran and Summer are keeping Loras and Margaery out of reach of the chimaera. Sansa puts her nose to the ground and catches the scent of human sweat, dirt, and flowers that is uniquely Margaery.

The temptation to follow it is almost too strong. The idea of Margaery out in the forest, walking right into danger, is excruciating. But the best chance for all their survival is to get to the chimaera as fast as they can.

Even if that means that the chimaera finds Margaery and Loras first.

* * *

"So. The secret Sansa won't let you in on is that the Starks are wolven skinchangers. Who knew going to the library could be so useful?"

"There's a myriad of information there, Loras. You should try it sometime," Margaery says, wading through the deep undergrowth to scrape some lichen off the side of a tree. It glows irridescent until it disappears into her bag. She picks her way back to the path and gives Summer an ear rub. She shivers, eager to be out of the forest. Professor Dondarrion had thought gathering ingredients for the Potions stores a fitting punishment for the Tyrell siblings. Unfortunately, Professor Dondarrion also has a less than realistic sense of what constitutes mortal peril. 

_At least Summer's with us._

"I don't get it. Why are you so glum then? It's exactly as you thought. Sansa was protecting a family secret. Not that you know it, the two of you can start getting busy in broom cupboards for real."

Margaery sighs. Her initial excitment of finding out what Sansa was hiding has drained out of her, leaving bleak realism in its wake.

"It's bigger than that, though, Loras. You heard what Grandmother said. Starks never marry Southerners. The furthest south they've ever married is Riverrun. Who knows if Sansa would even be allowed to date me seriously? They probably keep their relationships in the North so their secret stays among those who have sworn loyalty to them. Or people who are used to the old magic of the North."

Margaery had thought that discovering Sansa's secret would make it possible for them to be together. _But maybe it's not possible. Maybe Sansa, like her family, doesn't think I'm capable of dealing with this._

Loras moves to investigate further on, but Summer blocks him with a soft bark and leads them down another fork in the path.

"You know, Marge, I did hear Grandmother tell you about the Starks' marriage traditions. I also heard her tell you to find your godsdamned backbone and go for it."

Margaery runs a hand through her hair. It was a lot easier to have a can-do attitude about the situation before confronting the fact that she didn't even make the cut to be Sansa's confidante. That it hadn't even occurred to her to trust Margaery with her secret. Not only that, but that it hadn't occurred to her to bring Margaery in on whatever mission she was undertaking. As though Margaery couldn't handle that part of her life.

Margaery yanks a wolfsbane plant out of the ground, roots and all. _I'm angry_ , she realizes. _Does Sansa even know who I am? What I'm capable of? Does she think I don't have what it takes? Even after I saved her godsdamned life?_

Margaery lets Summer steer her to the left at another crossroads.

_What is it going to take for Sansa Stark to realize that she's met her match?_

* * *

Sansa crouches low and waits for Arya and Theon to catch up with her. Like the first time she saw it, the chimaera is feeding. But in the last week, it's moved up the food chain considerably. As Sansa watches, it tears open a giant black bear with little effort and begins to gorge itself. Sansa thanks the gods that as a wolf the sight of the gore has little effect on her other than to make her vaguely hungry.

She spies Arya at the other side of the clearing. Theon takes position behind a tree downwind.

It's time. She and Arya will try to buy him as much time as they can. Sansa takes a second to say a prayer to the old gods: _Please let us not die._

They're uncomplicated, the old gods.

Then she leaps into the clearing and snarls a challenge at the chimaera.

The beast whips around, tail lashing, blood dripping from its maw into its mane. Its eyes are cold and alien, and Sansa sees what Bran saw when he tried to enter its mind.

_A killer._

The chimaera rears up on its hind legs with a sound that is part screech, part roar.

Sansa runs.

The chimaera tears off after her through the woods. Sansa angles off into thicker foliage to make use of her superior agility. She feels the chimaera closing in on her and then hears its roar of pain and she knows Arya has cut across from where she's been trailing downwind. Sansa peels off while Arya takes her turn being the bait. Sansa lets her run for a while, keeping just out of sight. Then she comes up along the chimaera's left flank and bites the soft flesh above the scaly tail and darts away, leading the beast away from Theon and its kill.

They continue like that for what seems like forever. It's so much harder than it would be if the whole pack were there. Sansa and Arya are keeping the chimaera occupied, but it's running them ragged, and the longer the chase goes, the longer it has to figure them out like it's figured out all of its prey before them.

Sansa leaps out to nip at the chimaera. The exhaustion has slowed her, though, and she realizes too late that she's miscalculated, and that this was exactly what the chimaera was waiting for.

The dragon tail lashes out like a whip, sending Sansa flying against a tree. She hears herself cry out in pain as the chimaera advances on her. She struggles to her feet, mere feet away from its bloodied fangs.

* * *

Margaery and Loras are bickering about how much Belladona to harvest when they are interrupted by an unearthly scream. Margaery blanches. 

"We have to get out of here," Loras says shakily. "Whatever that was, it sounds like it dragged itself through all Seven Hells to come here and fuck us up."

Summer obviously has the same idea, because he barks softly but urgently and trots off briskly, leading them off the path and into the woods. Margaery curses as branches catch on her robes and scratch her arms, but if this is a shortcut out of the forest, she can deal with it. They emerge into a small clearing, and Margaery feels like her night can't possibly get any weirder.

Theon is kneeling beside the corpse of an enormous bear, methodically slicing bits off the ball of Gillyweed and tucking them in amongst the entrails. Margaery's stomach turns.

"What in the seven hells, Greyjoy?" Loras whisper-yells, his face a little green.

Theon whirls around, knife in hand.

"Thank the gods. You two need to get out of here. There's a chimaera loose in the forest - no time to explain. It won't be long before it's back. Summer will lead you out."

Margaery takes it all in and feels cold terror grip her. _A chimaera. How the hells are we supposed to get out of this?_ This _is the problem that Sansa has been trying to solve?_

She feels terror give way - just a little - to resolve.

_You think I can't do this, Stark? Watch me go all in._

"It'll be faster if we help," she says.

Theon hesitates, then looks at the huge amount of Gillyweed he still has to get through. "Alright. Tuck it wherever you can. This chimaera's a sloppy eater but I still don't want to run the risk of it noticing."

Margaery pulls out her own knife and starts efficiently cutting manageable chunks off the Gillyweed and passing them to Loras to hide among the bear's tissues, for all the world like a parent sneaking vegetables onto their child's plate.

"Who's distracting the chimaera?" Margaery askes, the dread she's been trying to ignore making its way back to the front of her mind. 

Theon is visibly uncomfortable.

"We know they're all wolves," Loras says conversationally.

To Margaery's surprise, Theon laughs. "I told her you would figure it out." He sobers. "It's Sansa and Arya. We would have waited for Jon and Robb, but then we found out you two had been sent in here..."

Margaery feels terror seize her and wills herself to keep her hands steady.

_Sansa is here, taking on one of the most bloodthirsty creatures in the known world, because of me._

Suddenly they hear a canine howl of pain from deeper in the forest. A sob catches in Margaery's throat and she loses focus on the piece of Gillyweed she's cutting.

She curses viciously. She's sliced right across the back of her hand. The cut isn't terribly deep, but the veins are close to the surface and blood immediately starts flowing freely.

Theon blanches in horror and drops his knife.

There is a roar, and then another, coming closer.

"Run," Theon says hoarsely. " _Run!_ "

* * *

Sansa and Arya crouch low, backed up against a high stone outcropping. Fighting the chimaera face to face was never part of the plan, and now it has them cornered. They are exhausted and bloodied, even their fast healing unable to keep up with the injuries sustained by the chimaera's onslaught.

Sansa steps in front of her sister and snarls.

_If I can just buy her some time to get away..._

Arya growls in protest behind her. Sansa puffs her chest out and looks the chimaera directly in the eye. The chimaera rears back to strike with a heavy front paw and Sansa braces herself for the final impact. 

They all freeze. Because they all smell it at the same time.

Human blood.

Fresh.

The chimaera turns and takes off into the direction of its new prey. It has never hunted humans before, and wolves, no matter how troublesome, are old news. Sansa and Arya race after it.

_Margaery, Margaery, Margaery._

* * *

It doesn't take long for the chimaera to find them.

One moment, Margaery is running as fast as she can through the dense forest. The next, there is a rush of air behind her and the moon is blotted out by an enormous shadow. The chimaera has jumped right over their heads.

It lands across the clearing from them, and Margaery finds herself face to face with a creature out of her worst nightmares. 

The chimaera raises its paw to take a swipe at her. She feels an impact, but it's not from getting hit - it's from Loras pushing her out of the way.

" _Loras!_ "

She watches, helpless, as Loras takes the full force of the blow. She scrambles over to where he's fallen. He's miraculously still conscious, but there's blood on his shirt and his breathing is laboured. 

Margaery summons every bit of her courage and stands in front of him, drawing her wand - even though chimaeras are invulnerable to magic. _What else am I going to do?_  Theon is trying to get its attention from the opposite end of the clearing but it's fixated on Margaery and Loras, who are now both bleeding. Staring into the lion's mouth is the most terrifying thing she's ever done.

And then the wolf is there.

A massive red direwolf stands in front of her, snarling at the chimaera. It stands almost at her chest height, and its fur is matted with blood. Before Margaery can move, the wolf leaps at the beast, a full frontal attack that takes it by surprise. Margaery takes the opportunity to drag Loras so he's sitting up against a tree. The wolf is on the chimaera's back, trying to tear at its throat while dodging its tail. 

"Loras. Say something." Margaery gives Loras's shoulder a shake.

" _Fuck._ " 

_That'll do, I guess._

Margaery takes off her cloak and presses it to Loras's ribs, moving his hands so that he's holding it himself. Behind them, Summer has joined the fray, but it's clear that the two wolves are outmatched by the chimaera's superior strength and speed.

_It's invulnerable to magic. How the hell am I supposed to help?_

The red wolf is thrown off of the chimaera's back and lands mere feet away from Margaery in a patch of Knotgrass before struggling to its feet and leaping right back into the fight.

_That's it._

Margaery points her wand at a Nasturtium climbing up a tree near where the chimaera is rearing up to dislodge Summer from its flank. The vines fly out as if alive and entangle the chimaera's back legs, forcing it to clumsily fall back down on all fours. 

Across the clearing where he's climbed onto the high branch of a tree, Theon catches onto the idea. He levitates a log and begins slamming it into the chimaera's underbelly. It isn't doing much more than making it mad, but at least it's taking enough of its focus that the wolves are getting a chance to get their bearings again.

A Spiky Bush flies into the chimaera's face, thorns raking down its muzzle. Margaery glances behind her and sees that Loras has his wand out as well, for all that he's still grimacing in pain.

They're managing to turn the tide a bit, but Margaery can tell that they're all getting tired. The wolves are keeping the chimaera away from the humans so that they can attack it at range using the environment. But throwing branches around is heavy spellwork, and Margaery can feel her energy flagging. She encases the chimaera's head in a block of ice, which it immediately shatters with its tail, and wipes her hand across her forehead. Summer takes a brutal kick from the chimaera's back hooves, and Theon is forced to leap to another tree when the chimaera's tail lashes out at him.

There is a screech from above, and Margaery looks up to see a huge raven descending on them, carrying the remains of the Gillyweed.

Before Margaery's eyes, a wolf leaps out from the trees, high over their heads. It transforms mid-leap into Arya Stark, covered in mud, her face taut with concentration. She snatches the Gillyweed out of the raven's claws and for a moment Margaery swears she's suspended in midair, her arm cocked back for all the world like she's holding a Quaffle.

She throws the Gillyweed straight down the chimaera's throat and lands right on its head, keeping its jaws closed with inhuman strength. Margaery sees the chimaera swallow, then throw Arya off with a bone-chilling roar. Arya lands on all fours and Margaery watches as the chimaera takes a lurching step towards her. The red wolf snarls low in her throat and leaps in front of her. 

But the chimaera is already slowing down. The addition of gills to the hybrid makes for a truly grotesque sight, but as it slowly falls onto its side in the clearing, struggling for breath, Margaery feels a pang of remorse.

Theon jumps down from his perch. He spares a brief glance at Arya. She shakes her head. "We're good here."

He nods and gingerly reaches out to touch the chimaera's flank. He pulls a chain out of his shirt and mumbles something, and then he and the beast both disappear.

Arya joins Loras and Margaery, having conjured some robes for herself. 

"Move your hands," Arya says, not unkindly. "I've done this before."

Margaery watches Loras take his hands off his side, her eyes welling up as they come back bloody. Arya pulls the shirt away from the wound.

"I don't have my wand. Just do as I say, alright?"

Margaery blinks the tears out of her eyes and determinedly follows Arya's instructions. When she's done, Loras can stand up, although groaning in pain.

"Maidenfucking hell. You godsdamned Starks."

Margaery managaes a weak chuckle. 

"Summer and I will get him to the castle," Arya says. "Madame Gilly knows about our... situation. Do you want to follow in a bit? I feel like you may have some things to discuss."

Margaery follows her eyes to the red wolf, who has been circling the perimeter of the clearing protectively as they help Loras.

"Right. Okay. You'll be alright, Loras?"

"Yeah, yeah. This better leave a cool scar, Stark. I expect to have a dashing and heroic trophy for tonight's work."

His voice trails off as Arya leads him back through the woods. 

The forest is silent once Loras and Arya's footsteps fade into the distance. Margaery stares raptly at the red wolf across the clearing from her.

"Sansa..."

Margaery can't keep the wonder from her voice. The wolf in front of her is primal, belonging to a world so much older than this, older than Hogwarts or Highgarden or the laws of men. She understands, now, the pure joy and connection she sees in Sansa when she meets her at night, so real and free she had mistaken it for the passion of a lover.

The wolf's - Sansa's - eyes never leave her. And then, as she watches, breathless, the wolf sinuously stretches onto her hind legs, becoming taller. Fur retreats into skin. Shoulders rotate outwards. Legs stretch and lengthen. Paws change to fingers, opening and closing reflexively. Finally, the upturned face softens into Sansa's fine features, and locks of thick red hair cascade down her back.

And Sansa Stark is in front of her, naked and ethereal in the moonlight.

If Sansa is shy about her nakedness, she doesn't show it, although Margaery's mouth is dry and her breathing shallow. Sansa's eyes bore into hers as she stalks across the clearing, and for the first time Margaery thinks, _how could I not have noticed?_  How had she not flagged it all those times that Sansa's shy nature had given way to the languid confidence of a predator?

Margaery feels frozen, like a deer about to flee. 

_I am Margaery Tyrell. I am no one's prey._

So she forces herself to take a step forward, then another, meeting Sansa in the centre of the clearing. Those fathomless eyes meet her courage with surprise, then pleasure.

Sansa doesn't stop until they're flush against each other, her hands tracing Margaery's hip bones, her breath washing over Margaery's lips. 

"So now you know everything," Sansa says, in a voice lower than usual with an edge of roughness that makes Margaery's knees weak.

She feels drunk on moonlight.

"Yes," she breathes.

Sansa's thumb comes up to trace from her collarbone to her throat.

"And do you still want me? And everything that comes with me?"

Margaery can feel Sansa's fingers resting on her pulse point. Blue eyes filled with sincerity through the haze of animal hunger.

She twines her hands in Sansa's hair and tries to answer her with a kiss. Sansa gasps an inch from her mouth and stops her.

"Say it. I need you to say it," Sansa says hoarsely, holding herself back.

"Yes," Margaery says, taking in Sansa's face in the moonlight, the vulnerability in her eyes.

Sansa's lips are on hers, then, taking her bottom lip between hers and then pulling back and breathing into her mouth, as if afraid of coming on too strong. She gasps when Margaery pulls her down with both hands and deepens the kiss. The aching want she's been holding knotted up inside her since that day she saw Sansa catch the Snitch loosens all at once, leaving her a breathless mess.

Margaery had imagined their first kisses being sweet and shy, then turning languid and sensual, perhaps in their bright courtyard among the fruit trees imported from the Reach. But instead they are in Sansa's territory - in the rich silence of the primeval forest, cold moonlight cutting through the trees' dark cathedral, where Margaery runs her nails down Sansa's spine, letting her head fall back. Sansa places sucking kisses down her throat as she gasps, staring up at the stars, unseeing.  

Margaery finds Sansa's lips with her own again and trails her hands down Sansa's sides, relishing the feel of the smooth skin there. Stops when she encounters a long gash.

"Gods, Sansa! You're hurt!" She reluctantly steps out of Sansa's embrace. The other girl's front is in fairly good shape, but her back and legs are covered in cuts and bruises.

Sansa laughs softly. "I guess I got ahead of myself. I heal quickly, though." She takes Margaery's hand in hers. "You're hurt too."

Margaery sighs. "I cut myself. It's my fault the chimaera came after us."

Sansa brushes Margaery's hair out of her face and Margaery leans into the touch. "Not a moment too soon, either. The chimaera had us cornered. How many times are you going to save my life?"

"As many times as I have to to get you to trust me. With your skinchanging, your... wildlife vigilantism, all of it."

"I do trust you," Sansa whispers, holding Margaery close again. "I'm sorry I didn't, before. You've been nothing but incredible."

Margaery smiles into Sansa's neck. "So what's next? Fighting a basilisk? Taking on a mountain troll?"

She can _feel_ Sansa roll her eyes. "You haven't had enough of adventure for a while?"

"No way," Margaery says, although her intent is undermined by her yawn. "Bring - it - on..."

It's not until they're both in their pyjamas laying in Sansa's bed, red curtains drawn around them, that Sansa answers her question.

"You asked what's next," she says. Margaery turns her head towards her, admiring the way her chestnut curls look mussed on the pillow with Sansa's red locks.

"I want to get my father out of prison. And take down those responsible for putting him there."

Margaery smiles, catlike.

"I'd love nothing more, darling. It's already clear that we make an excellent team."

_And I'm about to be in my element._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! Thanks so much for sticking with this and being so supportive - it really means the world to me. I do have a sequel planned, but it's definitely still in early stages. I'll have it out here as soon as I can :)


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